


Little Lions

by yesmsmoran (elliedew)



Series: Scattershots [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Scattershot Verse, Valentine's Day!fic, case!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliedew/pseuds/yesmsmoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel investigate a mysterious 'Epidemic' that has left six children comatose with no explanation. </p>
<p>Yes, this is a fluffy Valentine's Day Fic for the Sweet Dreams and Scattershot Verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Lions

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day to all you wonderful people who have supported me and Scattershot over the past year. Thank you.

0-0-0  
0-0-0  
0-0-0

Dean was pretty sure Castiel had a cold, there were crumpled tissues in his pockets and he had a petulant, red nosed, squinty look about him that was about fifty percent more irritated than Dean was used to. Not that he didn’t like getting stuff for free, but he was just getting over the damned cold himself and didn’t need a backset of it. He’d only just finished emptying his head from all that nasty drippy green shit, thank you very much.

Okay, yeah, seeing Cas sick was awful, damn near intolerable, and that really, is how he wound up pulling into Indianapolis two days before fucking Valentine’s day in the middle of a fucking snow storm and making for the first pharmacy he saw.

Indiana man. Screw this.

The woman behind the pharmacy counter had short hair and a nose ring. You had to have the employees give you the good cold medicine because regular Joes couldn’t be trusted not to make meth out of it. People were crazy.

That’s how he saw the newspaper. Or more accurately, a tiny paragraph in the ‘Health and Wellness’ section; ‘SIXTH Child Admitted to Hospital, CDC Baffled’.

The pharmacy girl came back with the cold pills and Dean pointed to the paper, asked what was going on.

The girl glanced down at it and looked back at him with a sad expression on her face. “This little girl fell into a coma at a sleepover a week ago… Two days later a second girl from the same sleepover did the same thing, the next day another girl from their school fell over in the middle of ballet practice. Two days after that the ballet instructor’s three-year-old son got sick too, and yesterday a ten-year-old boy from the school where the kids all went slipped under in the middle of his math class.”

Dean felt a tingle in the back of his mind; “That’s weird.”

“Right?” The girl said, eyebrows lifting.

“Any idea what’s causing it?”

“Some people think it was alcohol, or bad vaccines, but I don’t know, sounds like meningitis to me.”

Dean paid for the pills and snagged a newspaper, curiosity piqued.

Castiel stared at him miserably when Dean got back to the car and claimed, not for the first time, that he wasn’t sick. Dean nodded in agreement and handed him the pills anyway.

Castiel agreed that the story seemed like their kind of stuff and Dean tried to find a hotel room. TRIED to. There were plenty of rooms open for one night, but people were planning to take a long weekend and would be flocking in by tomorrow afternoon. Castiel snorted when Dean muttered about the sappy hopeless romantics and Dean replied with a look that seemed almost betrayed. “I bought you the candy. That’s not romantic?”

Castiel looked away and watched the snow fall.

Dean scowled out the windshield; “You ate the candy, you can’t take it back now.”

It took four tries, but Dean did eventually find a hotel. A single queen bed with no kitchenette. That was the problem with the nicer hotels, the kitchen cost you money. All there was, was a microwave on top of a tiny mini-fridge with overpriced booze in it.

Castiel dozed, mouth breathed in his sleep like only the severely congested can manage, and took up most of the bed. It was kind of funny to see him all sprawled out and boneless, even if his lips were pale and his nose was red like a goddamned reindeer. Dean threw blankets over him and propped himself up against the headboard with his laptop, searched for any kind of creature that would put kids into comas suddenly, but found nothing.

Any weather related demonic omens were smothered because of the snow. And anything else that may have tipped them off was spun out of the article because everyone was convinced it was some virus or something. Dean didn’t so much stumble across it as he just knew that when his gut said something was off, ninety-eight percent of the time something was off. The other two percent of the time something was still off, but not what he thought it was.

He nudged Cas awake about two hours later and wagged a finger at his computer screen; “Cas, I think we’re dealing with a cursed object… I mean, it’s not a disease or every kid at that sleepover would have been in the hospital by now, and the way it moves seems to me that it’s actually MOVING,” He ticked it off on his fingers; “Little girl at a sleepover drops, two days later two more girls drop, then a another clocks out during ballet practice, then the ballet teacher’s son, then a kid in the ballet teacher’s building… Something is passing from person to person, something physical.”

Cas rubbed his eyes tiredly and blinked at him. “Should we interview the boy’s family or patient zero’s first?”

“Wanna flip for it?”

“No, you cheat.”

“What? I do not!”

“I can feel it when you do. You think you’re being subtle, but you’re not.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Patient Zero’s first,” He looked at the clock and closed his computer, yawned and reached for the light. Castiel rolled over, fitted the curl of his back against Dean’s chest and dropped off again almost immediately.

Dean stayed awake a little while longer, feeling Castiel breathe and rubbing his fingertips against his stomach, fingers sliding under Cas’ t-shirt to find skin and mapping out each soft crest and trough of muscle, or the tender lines of scars. He curled his arm and pulled Cas closer, breathed in the concentrated scent from the back of his neck, and let himself slowly relax into sleep.

Morning came chilled with more snow than Dean would have liked. But, it was the ass end of winter, you had to learn to expect these kinds of things. Thankfully, Castiel kept his truck in good repair and the heater was phenomenal. Sometimes it was just awesome to have an angel on your side. Windshields were never icy, door handles were never frozen, and at least for the truck, road salt didn’t rust the undercarriage. Dean supposed the grace Castiel had left had to draw the line somewhere. Little unconscious conveniences were relegated to Castiel’s things, things he had put himself into over the last few years: His truck, his education, Dean—but that was a different matter entirely.

Dean took the passenger seat with all the grace he could muster, which equated to a roll of his eyes and a slump when he sat. He wasn’t used to being the one relegated Perpetual Shotgun. Those few months as winter reared its brutal head and Dean had to park the Impala in their cozy garage, under some nice warm drop cloths and tarps, to prevent rust: seemed to bruise Dean’s ego more than some bigot in a truck stop muttering slurs under their breath when Castiel fitted himself into the hollows of Dean’s chest for warmth, while the icy wind blew and he was standing against the trunk pumping gas.

Then again, Castiel knew it wasn’t just that Dean liked to be in charge of the car and the music and the direction the tires rolled. Dean also liked having Castiel tucked up under his arm while he drove, especially at night, with the stars overhead and nothing beyond the reach of the headlights existing to them.

Castiel adjusted his tie and coat before he climbed behind the wheel, took a moment to stomp accumulated road slush from the wheel wells. Dean had the lapels of his own coat flipped up, trying to keep his ears warm and put up a defensive front. Castiel rolled his eyes, slotted the key into the ignition and sighed contentedly when the heater blasted toasty warm air onto them first thing.

Dean rubbed his hands at the nearest vent and gave an allover shiver.

Patient Zero’s parents were at the hospital, hadn’t left really since their little girl had been brought in. Matilda Knight was nine years old. Pale blonde, and sealed in a quarantine ward where nobody could touch her but a select set of doctors and agents from the CDC.

Matilda’s parents showed Dean a photo, felt honored that the National Journal wanted to do a story on what was happening, that aside from the tiny paragraphs mentioned in the local paper, nobody had said a damned thing about the ‘epidemic’.

Dean didn’t know if six kids constituted an epidemic, especially since he was ninety-eight percent sure this wasn’t an actual illness of any kind. He asked the basic questions while Castiel took notes in his quick thin script, paused to put his hand on the mother’s wrist in comfort, asked a few hushed questions about Matilda’s temperament as an only child.

Matilda was quiet, didn’t have many friends, this was the first sleepover she’d ever been invited to and she’d been so excited. Joanne was one of the popular girls, always had the nicest clothes and most friends, and Matilda had tried so hard to impress her.

Dean looked down at the girl’s photo again. Matilda was a cute kid, short and a little chubby with frizzy blonde hair and deft pianist’s fingers. She smiled timidly, respectfully, but it never seemed to meet her eyes. Dean asked if Matilda had been given anything recently, likely something old, possibly a Christmas or holiday gift.

Her parents looked somewhat confused and shook their heads. “No,” The father said, “We’re ‘Witnesses, we don’t celebrate holidays.”

Castiel looked a little confused and unhappy, but hid it well and didn’t say anything.

Dean apologized and asked if maybe they had bought any antiques recently.

The parents shook their heads, “No, sorry… What does this have to do with the Epidemic?”

Dean smiled reassuringly and Castiel cut in with a soft calming tone, spouted bullshit like a pro; “It’s possible that bacteria can linger on older objects that weren’t cleaned properly.”

Matilda’s parents nodded knowingly and Dean ended the interview.

Next stop, Joanne Baker’s house.

Joanne was the baby of the family. She had three older brothers and her parents doted on her in a way Dean felt was more than slightly unhealthy. They lived in a townhouse in the suburbs, and when you walked in there were photos of the children on every wall, certificates and trophies of each kid’s achievements. Honor roll, boy scouts, girl scouts, sports teams, Joanne’s newest achievements in karate or tennis.

Joanne was in the dining room with a tutor, since a majority of the sick kids went to the same school, the board had shut the building down for sanitation.

Joanne’s parents were kind, offered hot tea or coffee. Ensured that the whole house had been cleaned after Matilda collapsed upstairs.

Joanne’s father was named John, he was average looking with a receding hairline and a soft middle, her mother was Stephanie, slim with big brown eyes and a touch of gray at her brow. They were soft spoken and answered every question as best as they could.

John was a security guard at a bank in the city, it was new work for him, he’d been in the army until about four years ago, heart attack, the family had moved cities and well, here we are. Stephanie was a real estate agent and their three sons were either married or in college. Stephanie had had a hysterectomy about fifteen years ago because of cancer. Joanne was their baby, adopted at only three days old, they were lucky and she was so loved.

Stephanie had been downstairs during the sleepover, supervising snacks and making sure everyone had a place to sleep and a few of the girls had their medication before bed.

Dean asked what kind of medication.

“Carla and Emily have asthma and Ella’s mother sent over an antibiotic and her epi-pen, poor thing had an ear infection.”

Dean nodded and Castiel pretended to make a note, none of those medications would have caused this.

Castiel asked about the evening’s events, if any of the girls’ behaviors had seemed ‘off’.

Stephanie shook her head, “They’re nine and ten year olds, they watched Frozen and sang along and ate pizza, then played Wii and went upstairs to do ‘make overs’.”

Dean asked about Matilda’s behavior that evening.

Stephanie’s gaze softened and she tilted her chin down. “She was quiet, I remember that, like she didn’t feel well. I thought she was just shy. She’s not a very social child, no sports, no extracurricular activities that I know of. Smart as a tack, though. I was actually surprised when Joanne said she wanted to invite her. I didn’t think they would get along, especially after the music box incident.”

Dean blinked and shifted closer in his chair; “Music box incident?”

Stephanie nodded. “Joanne and Matilda are in the same homeroom class. Before Christmas their teacher, Ms. Caulfield, brought in a music box one day and it wound up falling off the teacher’s desk and getting broken. Matilda told the principal and teacher that she had seen Joanne knock it off the teacher’s desk when she went to get a pencil… Now, Joanne has pencils, John and I make sure she has everything she needs, so there was no point for her to be getting a pencil from the teacher’s desk.”

“So you’re saying Matilda lied?”

Stephanie held up her hands but there was something cold in her eyes; “All I’m saying is Joanne didn’t need a pencil.”

Dean detected a little animosity, if not complete disdain. Stephanie didn’t like Matilda.

Dean felt that buzz of agreement in the back of his mind from Castiel, but tried not to let it show on his face.

“Would you mind if we spoke to Joanne?” Castiel said, meeting Stephanie’s eyes. “Just a few questions about what happened while the girls were upstairs.”

John and Stephanie looked at one another, then shook their heads.

Joanne was a tall willowy girl with an innocent face and all seeing eyes. She fidgeted in the too big chair when she sat and pulled her ruffled skirt down over the knees of her leggings.

Dean introduced himself as James, from the National Journal, and motioned to his partner; “This is Steve. We want to ask you a few questions about the sleepover, is that OK?”

Joanne nodded suspiciously and pursed her lips.

“Can you tell us what was happening upstairs that night?”

“We were putting on finger polish,” She showcased her nails with a gummy smile, “I like finger polish.”

Dean nodded. “What was Matilda doing?”

“Watching—”

_**She’s lying.** _

“—She didn’t want any finger polish, she said she thought it smelled bad.”

Dean nodded again; “What did you do after the... finger polish?”

Joanne seemed to relax a little, smiled and wrinkled her nose; “We played music and talked about boys.”

Dean smiled; “What kind of boys?”

Joanne rolled her eyes; “All the boys. There’s this one boy, in my math class, the teacher made him put his desk in the corner because he was drawing in his book. And this other boy in Juanita’s homeroom put gum in the pencil sharpener. He’s so stupid… My Sifu says that if you don’t have a good outlet for your energy you do destructive things like that.”

“Your Sifu sounds pretty smart.”

“He is. Sifu says that you can’t let your pride or fear keep you from learning and growing as a person, too. That’s really smart. If you’re afraid of something all it does is make you weak.”

“Well, sometimes fear is a good thing.”

Joanne looked him right in the eye; “Fear makes you weak and stupid.”

Dean tilted his head to the side; “Being afraid of making your parents mad or hurting someone doesn’t make you weak.”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

_**Dean…** _

“Really?”

Joanne nodded; “People need to stop being scared of stuff. It makes them stupid.”

“Well, what if they can’t help it?”

“You can always help it. You learn about it, or you just tell yourself you’re not really scared and you do it anyway until the fear goes away. ‘s what I did.”

“Really? What did you do?”

Joanne pulls a thin cord from around her neck and dangles a tiny jade pendant at Dean. “Sifu gave this to me. He said you had to have a heart like a lion to move past your fears… I did it and now I’m not afraid anymore.”

Dean’s fingers curled and his eyes locked on the tiny jade lion, he smiled but he radiated discomfort. “Oh, is that how you did it?”

Joanne nodded vigorously. “You can only get one if you conquer your fear.”

“Is that what you were doing when Matilda got sick? Conquering your fears?”

Joanne hesitated, looked him up and down warily and clamped her teeth together.

Dean shrugged, “You were just trying to help, it’s not your fault she got sick.”

Joanne relaxed a little and rubbed the little lion between her fingertips. “Matilda was scared of small spaces… I told her she could use this to help… She was sick, it wasn’t my fault. We didn’t do anything wrong!”

Dean nodded and Castiel scanned the area for Joanne’s parents, wanted to make sure nobody was going to rush in and stop the girl from saying what had happened.

“What happened when Matilda got sick?”

“We put her in my hope chest… She was OK at first, then she started screaming, but when we got the lid open she already stopped screaming and was just talking to herself. I thought she was just being stupid again like she was in gym, but… but she wouldn’t wake up, even when me and Juanita got her out and rubbed her face with a washcloth like Coach Thomas had done.”

Castiel’s brows pulled down, “What happened in gym?”

“We had to run with the boy’s class before Christmas, and everyone kept laughing at her ‘cause she’s slow, so she just sat down and started talking to herself. I tried to make her get up but she wouldn’t. Coach Thomas had to take her to the nurse,” Joanne’s eyes narrowed and her face curled up defensively; “She’s really weird sometimes, and she lies… I only invited her because she can play ‘Let It Go’ on the piano.”

Dean’s fingers were tightened on his knees and he could feel Castiel’s urgent tug on his thoughts. He thanked Joanne for talking to them and asked if he could take a picture of her pendant, that he thought maybe his nephew would like one.

Joanne nodded and held it up while Dean took a photo with his phone and emailed it to Sam to investigate.

Joanne went back to her tutor and Dean said goodbye to her parents, asked for the Karate Instructor’s address and the phone numbers of the other girls’ parents.

They found Josie Kim’s family first. Her mother and Grandmother, neither of which spoke very much English. Castiel had to do most of the talking while Dean took notes and pretended to understand while Castiel translated in his head.

It seemed Joanne and Josie knew one another from math class. Josie was in the choir, had a beautiful voice. She had two younger brothers, both at home with their father, and wrote poetry in her spare time. Josie was quiet, but social, and this hadn’t been the first sleepover she’d attended at Joanne’s house.

Castiel asked if Josie had ever had an issue with the boys in her grade, her mother said no, that Josie didn’t seem interested in boys yet.

Josie’s mother had heard of Matilda before, that she’d been concerned for the girl’s mental health, her daughter having seen Matilda, on occasion, talking to herself, and choosing to stay away from her.

Dean made a note of this, baffled. Matilda’s parents hadn’t seemed concerned of this behavior, maybe they hadn’t even known.

Then Josie’s grandmother spoke, and Dean heard the translation through Castiel’s Voice in his mind; “Josie thought the girl had a bad spirit attached to her… She was so lonely, sometimes any company at all is welcomed.”

Suddenly Dean wasn’t ninety-eight percent sure they were dealing with a cursed object.

The third girl, Nataleigh, was ten. Her fathers were sitting side by side leaned into one another at the far end of the waiting room from Matilda’s parents and Josie’s.

Nataleigh’s photo was worried at the edges by her dads’ tear stained fingers. She was a pretty girl with a dark complexion and a wide smile, Liam, the taller of the two, said they’d adopted her at four, along with her twin brother. That Bill’s sister was at home with Keeton since he had become so distraught at his sister’s illness. Castiel spoke to them calmly, offered his hand to hold when they needed it. He felt some sort of kinship with them Dean still had trouble embracing, even after four years of this.

Liam had tissues shredded in his hand and Castiel pulled a travel pack from his coat pocket and offered one. Asked when Nataleigh had fallen sick.

She had been at home, helping Bill pick out a movie for pizza night when she’d gone quiet, looked up and asked if she would go to hell if she’d done something really terrible that had hurt someone else.

Bill covered his face and said that he’d told her as long as she sought forgiveness from God and paid for her actions on earth that she wouldn’t.

Dean didn’t think he’d ever met a religious gay couple before and bumped his knee into Castiel’s.

Bill said she had gone to her room and he’d found her twenty minutes later when she didn’t come down for pizza lying in the floor by her bed, pale and still. Bill Looked Dean in the eye and asked what kind of parent he was for letting something happen to his daughter, and he hadn’t even known she was sick.

Dean asked if Nataleigh had known Matilda before the night of the sleepover, Bill shook his head, said she had never mentioned the girl, though he had seen her during school functions and she always appeared to be alone, that he’d always felt kind of sorry for her.

Dean asked if Nataleigh had recently expressed desire to ‘conquer her fears’.

Bill was quiet a moment, then nodded; “She was afraid of heights… Especially the diving board at the ‘Y’… Then about three weeks ago, when we went for our Saturday Swim, she climbed up and…” He flipped a finger in a diving motion. “I’d never seen her so excited as when she made it to the side of the pool… She jumped off three or four more times that day, and at least once every Saturday since—“ His face closed off and he looked down, tangled his fingers with Liam’s and covered his eyes.

The fourth child’s parents refused to speak to them, said they didn’t want this ‘mess’ spread around the national news. The ballet teacher though, was forthcoming, her son Brandon, was the youngest affected. He had been in Sasha’s office watching movies while she’d taught her class. Did Brandon have any contact with any of the sick children?

Sasha nodded; “Stephanie Baker sold me the studio where I teach. Inez was there,” The fourth victim,“She would come in after school sometimes crying because Joanne said she was weak. Inez isn't very social, she's afraid of people and because of that she doesn't have many friends…” Sasha hesitated and leaned close. “Inez and her family moved here from Miami, her older brother was shot and killed right in front of her and the police didn’t even charge the people responsible,” Sasha rubbed her face dry, “I would watch Inez sometimes, while her parents worked. She was always quiet, didn’t like being touched… The only one who she seemed to like was Dylan, the other boy who’s sick. Dylan lives upstairs from Brandon and me, he’s a sweetheart… He was devastated when Inez was hospitalized… I didn’t see him after they took her out of class until I found his mother here.”

Dean looked around and Sasha shook her head, “She’s not here… She had to work.”

Dean balked; “Her kid’s sick and she’s not here?”

Sasha looked at him sadly; “She’s a single parent, she works retail to keep a roof over their heads… Dylan’s father isn’t in the picture, I never asked why… If she doesn’t work, she doesn’t have health insurance to pay for his stay here.”

“And what about you?”

Sasha smiled sadly, “Brandon’s father and I may not be together, but he does what he can to help when it’s needed,” She motioned across the room to a man in a tailored suit sitting rumpled and slouched by the window. “He may be a cheating bastard, but he’s a good father.”

Dean nodded and asked, slowly, if Brandon had interacted with Inez immediately before she became sick.

Sasha shook her head, “Not that I know of.”

Castiel lifted his pen from the paper and twirled it; “Did Brandon mention anything about being afraid of something prior to the onset of his illness?”

Sasha asked what that had to do with anything, and Dean said even the smallest detail could help them paint a bigger picture.

Sasha nodded, rubbed her fingers, and said that Brandon told her he’d seen a ghost in one of the mirrors of the studio. That she’d been whispering into Inez’s ear while she practiced… That she’d followed him to his room and was in his closet.

And then Sasha did something that made Dean’s stomach crawl up his throat. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a thin cord with a tiny little jade lion on it. “He was afraid, so I bought him this.”

0-0-0

“It doesn’t make sense,” Dean said, pacing the hotel room, phone to his ear, hand on his hip. “One minute I’m sure it’s a cursed object, the next it’s a restless spirit… It’s giving me a headache!”

Sam snorted from the other end of the phone; “Maybe it’s both?”

“But there’s two necklaces, and they’re practically identical.”

“I don’t know, Dean. The image you sent me matches about six dozen different images of Chinese lion figures I’ve found. But the only ones I can find mention of in the library that are cursed are a hell of a lot bigger. Now, if you find out who is supplying these things maybe you can find the source… Maybe they’re just run of the mill tourist pieces but they’re being kept IN or adjacent to something that IS cursed…” He tapped away on his computer, flipped a few more pages in books. “Have you talked to the Karate instructor yet?”

“No, he’s not in on Thursdays and if it keeps snowing like this he likely won’t be in tomorrow.”

Sam grunted; “Well, if you need me, I can be there in a couple hours—“

“No… No,” Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair; “You’re busy enough as it is… Any noise on the Southern front?”

“Not a peep.”

“Good.”

“I’m serious, if you guys need a hand—“

“I need you to stay there, this—whatever it is, is after kids. I don’t…” He let the sentence hang there. “I’ve got an angel on my shoulder, remember?”

Sam sighed irritably, “Sometimes I need it, Dean. Sometimes mundane gets tedious and it—it’s good to get away from it. Gank some monsters and save the world a little bit before I have to go back to dealing with nine-to-five and propane bills. Sometimes it’s just nice to get back to basics, yanno?”

Dean nodded, asked how Sputnik and Butthead were doing.

Sam sighed and Dean heard his chair creak; “They’re fine, Dean.”

He hesitated, felt that knot of apprehension building in his gut and rubbed the back of his neck; “Maybe there is something you can do for me…”

“What’s that?”

“One of the sick kids is Korean I think, her grandmother said something about a ‘Bad Spirit’ being attached to the Patient Zero… Kid apparently talked to herself a lot, dissociative behavior, but her parents didn’t say anything about an illness… Then another kid, the fifth, said he saw a ghost whispering in the ear of the fourth victim. Can you look into it? See if maybe there’s something behind it.”

“Sure. I’ll see what I can find.”

Sam ended the call with a quick; “I’ll call you when I find something,” And Dean turned his attention back to the room around him.

Castiel was snuffling again, sitting at the little table in the hotel room going over their notes. Dean rolled his eyes and when he put a hand to Cas’ face he could feel the heat in his skin. “Wanna tell me again that you’re not sick.”

“I’m not sick.”

Dean gave him more cold pills and pushed him toward the bed; “I’m gonna go get food. You want Chinese?”

“Can I have your fortune cookie?”

“Sure, whatever you want,” He made sure the Castiel shaped lump under the blankets had water and the TV remote, snagged the keys out of his coat pocket and left. By the time he came back Castiel had found some romcom on tv and was scanning the pink and red ‘Valentine’s Special’ pamphlet that the hotel had slipped onto the night stand beside the complementary stationary. It was mostly different treats you could order. Chocolate covered strawberries or cherries, roses, some poor schmuck would come and serenade you for a hundred bucks. There was also a showing of some sappy black and white film in the hotel conference room on Saturday night and there would be drinks and dinner for a nominal fee.

Dean snatched the pamphlet away and replaced it with a cup of egg drop soup and a container of sweet and spicy chicken. Castiel dug in with relish, his breathing labored through clogged nostrils.

Dean said he sounded like a pug and sat at the table to eat his own food and complain about the ‘romantic’ bullshit advertised on the pamphlet. “It’s an excuse to make money. That’s all Valentine’s Day is. It’s pathetic.”

Castiel squinted at him over his soup; “No, what’s pathetic is the fact you find any excuse people take to make a production out of showing affection and demean them for their endeavors.”

“Do you want to do any of this shit?”

“I wouldn’t mind the chocolate covered strawberries.”

“You just like candy, you’d take any excuse you can find to get candy and you know it.”

“So do you.”

“Because I like candy. I don’t need some corporate holiday as an excuse to like candy.”

“And yet you insist on celebrating Halloween?”

“Hey, Halloween’s different!”

Castiel grinned around the rim of his cup; “Just admit it, public displays of affection make you uncomfortable. Even if you’re not taking part in them.”

Dean said nothing, just shoved more General Tso’s in his mouth.

Castiel looked smug.

Sam called just as Dean was crawling into bed and fitting himself against Castiel’s back with less than innocent intentions. He muttered and cursed under his breath and Castiel laughed quietly while Dean went for his phone.

“Yeah?” He hoped the irritation read through his voice.

Sam was oblivious; “Okay, so get this… This isn’t the first time some ‘mysterious illness’ took a bunch of kids in Indianapolis.”

“Oh?”

“Nineteen fifteen, a girl by the name of Mildred Hayes, was found locked in a steamer trunk in the attic of an orphanage. By the time they got her out she was blue. She was comatose for ten days and died of dehydration… Within a week of her death six other kids from the orphanage were comatose, and ten days after that they were dead… The nuns in charge of the orphanage claim that they saw a ‘shadow’ hovering over each child’s bed… I emailed you the story. ”

Dean was suddenly much less angry about being interrupted than he had been; “Where was this orphanage?”

“Burned down in the thirties.”

“The story fits. The Baker girl admits that she and the others locked Matilda in her hope chest because she was afraid of small spaces… But if the orphanage burned down, what could the girl’s spirit be attached to?”

“Maybe the space? I sent you a map.”

Dean opened his computer and found the images, shook his head; “Wrong side of town… None of the families live near there.”

“And Mildred’s body was buried in a catholic cemetery.”

“So?”

“Silver coins, Dean… A silver dollar in the mouth to pay the ferryman, two on the eyes to hold them closed… Bobby told you about this, remember? If it’s Mildred she’s attached to something else.”

“I don’t think there is anything else. One of us would have felt it if she was attached to something. Spirits give off this energy when they’re attached to something. That’s why this all feels like a cursed object.”

“Well, I hope you’re right because the alternative isn’t pretty. If it’s Mildred, all those kids will be dead by Monday morning.”

Dean rubbed his face tiredly… blinked and called out to his brother before he could hang up; “Sam, wait… You said Mildred was comatose ten days before she died… And it was only after she was dead that the other kids got sick.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, clicked on his computer and shuffled printouts; “Yeah. Mildred died and two days later the first kid dropped.”

“Sam, Matilda was patient zero, she’s not dead. If it is Mildred, and she’s working off the same M.O.—revenge for the kids that locked her in that trunk then—“

“Then there’s something we’re missing.”

“The last two kids… The ballet teacher’s son and the boy from her building, Dylan. They didn’t know Matilda… It’s not a spirit.”

There were no EMF readings over Mildred Hayes’ grave. None in the bowling alley built over where the orphanage used to be. None in the dojo where Joanne took Karate. When asked about the pendants Sifu, a man in his thirties named Louie, said that his cousin had them shipped in from Hong Kong and sold them out of his restaurant. There wasn’t anything special about them, not mystically. Louie gave Dean and Castiel knowing looks. “Most of the kids who come in here for lessons have some kind of anxiety or issue. The lion is just a placebo, gives them something to focus on so they can work through their fears.”

Dean asked if he knew Sasha or Brandon Llewellyn and suddenly the quiet buzz of Louie’s thoughts flared and went eerily quiet. “No, sorry.”

They went back to the hospital to speak with Sasha when, in the elevator, Castiel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I don’t want to startle you… But stop the elevator.”

Dean felt his heart jump anyway as he pushed the button and Castiel nodded to his left at the corner.

Dean didn’t see anything at first. Not until he focused himself and reached out, let his feathery edges seek out the confines of the elevator, felt Castiel—and something foreign reaching back at him.

He jerked in surprise, maybe a little fear but didn’t pull back from the contact. Let himself relax and is vision slip just a fraction to the side.

The reaper looked like a young woman, blonde and ethereal like most of them were. She spoke and though her mouth seemed to move, the sound didn’t come out, it was just there, in Dean’s head.

“I was told to come and collect a boy… But he isn’t here. I don’t know what to do… None of them are here.”

Dean blinked, had to focus so he only spoke to her through the grace and not with his voice. “What do you mean they’re not here?”

Castiel said it, because it didn’t seem the reaper could, like it made her sick to her stomach; “The souls, Dean… The sick children don’t have souls.”

0-0-0

Castiel couldn’t do it, it wasn’t his fault, it was the nature of his condition now. He wasn’t able to separate himself from his body and go survey the children for himself. There was no way Dean was going to try astral projecting again, not after last time, and the only way they could confirm it was to have eyes of their own on the situation, so to speak.

Castiel rubbed his brow tiredly and swallowed a few more cold pills when Dean passed them his way. Washed them down with a long swallow of coffee. “We need help… This is out of our league.”

Dean nodded. “I don’t know how much help Sam can be, he can’t exactly astral project anymore—“

Castiel shook his head; “No… If something has taken the souls right from the childrens’ bodies, then it’s not a vengeful spirit, or a cursed object… It’s most likely a demon.”

Dean took a breath and let it out. “Okay. We know how to deal with those.”

“Yes, but if we’re wrong.”

“What do you suggest then?”

Castiel rolled his coffee cup between his palms, relished in the sting of the hot cardboard against his skin; “We need an angel, Dean. One with full access to their powers.”

Dean wasn’t happy; “I didn’t think they were too enthusiastic about you last time we checked.”

Castiel pursed his lips; “I’m hoping that at least one will be reasonable enough to help.”

Dean took another drink of his own coffee; “Okay, what do we need?”

They commandeered an empty room on the third floor and Castiel did his thing, folded his hands under his chin and let his extra ethereal pair spread, palms turned up in acceptance.

Dean quietly tried to mimic him, tried.

The Enochian was harsh sounding, but familiar like a song Dean had heard on the radio but couldn’t quite remember the lyrics of.

Castiel repeated the formal request for assistance three times before Dean felt it. Like stepping through a beam of sunlight when you were blindfolded. Warmth, and—

“Oh, it IS you!”

Dean’s eyes flew open just in time to see a chubby little dude with curly black hair and no clothes crush Castiel in a hug.

Dean groaned audibly; “Not you again!”

The angel turned and saw Dean, smiled so broadly tears formed in his eyes and before Dean could protest there was a naked, man shaped angel hugging him.

“Of course… If all this Valentine’s day bullshit wasn’t bad enough, the only help we’re gonna get is a freakin’ cupid.”

Castiel tilted his head in something akin to annoyance and motioned to the cupid with the flat of his hand. “This is Chamuel… He is fierce in his knowledge and pursuit of—“

“He is also very naked, Cas, and I am very uncomfortable with this.”

Chamuel stepped back, as if stunned and his hands fluttered; “I was in such a hurry. I came as soon as I heard your call,” He stepped behind the curtain and a moment later stepped out again dressed similarly to Castiel but with a dark purple wool coat over his arm. Dean was thankful that he wasn’t wearing pink and decided to overlook the coat. Even if he did look slightly out of place in a suit and tie.

Chamuel looked around gleefully at the paper hearts taped to the walls and doors as they walked back toward the elevator, it was as if he wasn’t even listening as Castiel spoke, too enthralled by all the… all the LOVE in the air.

“Hey!” Castiel snapped his fingers in front of Chamuel’s face to regain his attention. “This is serious… Something has stolen the souls of six young children… I understand that the atmosphere and sensations you are experiencing are overwhelming, but I need you to focus, Cam… This is just another battle. Once it’s over, you may return to your duties.”

Dean was inherently proud of the nickname and sort of wanted to elbow a passing doctor and announce that he had taught Castiel that. Instead he gave Castiel an approving look and ignored the glee on Chamuel’s face when the cupid noticed the glance.

Chamuel though, didn’t speak, if anything he suddenly seemed keenly focused on Castiel, plump face reddened; “Something stole the souls of six children?”

Castiel nodded. “We require your assistance… I can’t separate and check the state of them myself. And even if I could I can’t see souls any longer. I would have to make contact with their bodies and they’re in quarantine. Something that traumatic wouldn’t set well with their families or their doctors. Dean can’t go and look because of the quarantine—“

“But I can look without moving into the area with my vessel.”

“Right.”

Chamuel nodded and his expression was suddenly serious. “Alright. I will do this.”

They lead Chamuel past the CCU, where the CDC had set up the quarantine rooms and found a bench at the end of the hall. Chamuel sat straight with his hands on his pudgy knees and his face went suddenly blank as he ‘separated’.

Dean tried not to look at him, and Castiel folded his hands on his stomach, slouched much like Dean usually did. Castiel spoke quietly.

“Chamuel was under my command for a time. There is a reason he is the chief of cupids. Compared to his fellows, he’s practically an archangel.”

Dean blinked; “Love Guru here’s an archangel?”

“Comparatively to his fellows. He is the… the King of the Cupids as you will. He reported directly to me during the Wars Before Man.”

“He’s one of those, Cas.” He pointed to a window cling of a blonde infant with wings in a diaper aiming a bow and arrow at a cartoon heart.

“That is not a cupid. That is… that is a joke… I admit, cupids are small in size, but they are by no means incapable… How hard would you fight for someone or something you love, Dean?”

Dean shook his head, didn’t even dignify that question with an answer.

“Cherubs feel that way about everything and everyone… Only a select few, who are the most intelligent and capable, are chosen to fulfill the role of Cupids. Now, how fiercely do you think he would react if something threatened one he loved?”

Dean wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth but Castiel’s expression was earnest, perhaps even urgent.

“I have seen Chamuel fight, Dean. He was in charge of an entire battalion of Cherubs and they were magnificent. We could not have hoped for a more fitting, or qualified hand in this. He fought valiantly and unflinchingly. Keep that in mind before you judge him.”

Chamuel came back to himself with a quick inhale, hands coming up over his face.

Dean could feel his extra hands wrapping around himself, could feel the cherub’s grace ramping up in… in RAGE even as tears dripped from his vessel’s chin.

“What did you see?” Castiel asked evenly, settling into Holly Warrior mode as easily as if he never left.

Chamuel shuddered and spoke in a low, calm and somehow dangerous voice; “Something attacked them. Berated them and filled their hearts with doubt and fear and loneliness. Then it stole their souls.”

“To what end?”

“For—For anger…” Chamuel took a tissue when Castiel offered it wiped his eyes and blew his nose loudly. “It left a mark on them… Where their souls should be… I-if,” Chamuel’s eyes lit up with hope. “If we can find them, I think, with the reaper’s help, we can fix this… The Binds weren’t closed, just cut. In time, the Binds will heal, and everything should be OK!”

“So, you can put their souls back in their bodies and they’ll be OK?” Dean's eyebrows lifted.

“It will take grace to reattach the Binds, but yes. As long as their souls are intact, they will be OK,” He smiled brightly and hooked an arm around Castiel’s and Dean’s necks and pulled them into a hug.

Chamuel liked Castiel’s truck. He walked completely around it running his fingers along the paint job, oohing and ahhing and admiring everything Dean had put into it that had nothing to do with his ability as a mechanic. Dean rubbed his neck self-consciously.

Chamuel and Castiel spoke candidly as they made their way through the snow. Chamuel said he had witnessed seventy-two weddings since they’d last spoke, and the births of a hundred blessed infants. Castiel explaned over the cupid’s head that ‘Blessed Infants’ were children born out of an Affirmed Pair. Or two souls that had chosen one another and been ‘affirmed’ through a cupid’s bolt. “It’s a fancy way of saying ‘soul mates’,” Castiel said. “Most people joined by cupids only fall in love after they’ve been Struck. Soul Mates are in love before the cupid gets there. It’s a rare and beautiful thing, or was until things were cleared up upstairs.”

Chamuel laughed; “Now we’re scrambling to catch up!” He wiggled excitedly; “There’s not much better than seeing two people so deeply in love.”

Dean hummed disinterestedly and looked out the window.

Chamuel and Castiel fell quiet after a while, but Dean could feel the vibration of them. Like putting your hand over a thrumming guitar string long after you can’t hear the sound anymore. They were talking without him, likely ABOUT him.

Dean squirmed.

They started with the Baker house. Pointed it out and let Chamuel ‘Separate’ to scan the area. He came back with a shake of his head. “It was there recently, not residing, but likely came and went with the children.”

Matilda’s house showed more promise. Chamuel came back quiet, nodded and said he had been able to feel the presence there, but it wasn’t fresh. It had been around Matilda for a long time. “Weeks, maybe a month or more…” He was visibly shaking and nearly in tears.

They stopped to eat, chose a restaurant Chamuel recommended because he had business in the area. He left and Dean sat awkwardly across from Castiel in the booth and tried to ignore the quiet, vaguely stuffy atmosphere.

The napkins were made of cloth for crap sake! And he was pretty sure the silverware was actually silver.

There were other people, all of them dressed up all hoity-toity and Dean felt his hands shaking until the waiter came around and offered them a bottle of wine, complements of a friend.

Dean felt like maybe someone somewhere was laughing at him. He suspected it was Sam because it just seemed like something he would do, but holy SHIT that was a nice looking steak, and he wasn’t really one for wine, reminded him of cough syrup and winters spent in drafty motel rooms, but he wasn’t going to complain about free alcohol. Especially when Castiel was looking at him like that and he was pretty sure Chamuel was buzzing around the room Striking people and being a good little cupid to boost his mood after Matilda’s house had upset him so.

Dean could understand in a weird way. You put up with the unhappy stuff and you did your job… then you took care of yourself afterward. Dean wasn’t the best at it, but over the last two years especially, Castiel had been there, had been more of a help than Dean would admit outside of their room.

Castiel nudged his shin under the table and Dean nudged him back, grinned into his glass and passed vague mental images and sensations Castiel’s way as means of promise for after the case was taken care of.

If the way Castiel’s face reddened could be trusted, he was quite amenable to the ideas.

Sam tried to call while they were eating but Dean sent a quick text that said; _‘On a date, emergencies call again.’_

Since Sam didn’t call back Dean didn’t worry, and ignored what was likely a snarky text that buzzed his hip once his phone was put away again.

Chamuel returned just as Castiel was using his finger to swipe the last of the chocolate sauce from his dessert plate and said he had met with another Cherub in the area who had an interesting story to tell.

Dean started to leave a tip but Chamuel already placed a single silver coin on the tabletop. Dean started to protest, said he had a five and some ones, but Castiel was already walking to the door and Chamuel had an arm hooked at Castiel’s elbow. Their heads were tilted together and they were talking quietly.

Dean felt a pinch of something hot and sour in his gut, stuffed the cash back in his pocket and stalked out after them, completely ignored the waiter picking up the coin and examining it then falling into a dead faint when he realized what it was.

Chamuel settled into the truck right between Dean and Castiel, scooched himself up right against Castiel’s side and smiled broadly as they drove. “I would like to see the ballet studio. Brandon’s memories put the figure there not long before Inez was attacked.”

The snow was falling thicker now, but Castiel seemed to maneuver without so much as a hitch and the cab of the truck filled with a sugary scent like candy blown from the heater vent. Dean cracked his window and stared out at the city with snow melting on the lapels of his coat and his breath fogging up the window.

Chamuel said something and Castiel giggled. Actually fucking giggled. Dean thought only he could do that. He crossed his arms tighter across his chest; “We’re looking for a soul robbing monster and you’re cracking jokes?”

Chamuel glanced at Castiel with something of an ‘I told you so’ look on his face and Castiel focused on the street again, a light flush in his cheeks.

The next thing Dean knew Chamuel let out a loud sigh and dropped his head over onto Castiel’s shoulder.

Dean saw red. “Okay! That’s enough. You—don’t you know what personal space is? Stop trying to feel him up, he doesn’t like it!”

Chamuel looked genuinely surprised and with a bubbly, sugary POP! Disappeared entirely from the truck.

Castiel blinked at Dean in shock and jerked the truck onto the sidewalk, slapped it into park and turned in his seat; “Alright, talk.”

Dean bristled; “He’s been all over you since he showed up!”

“He’s the first angelic company I’ve had in MONTHS, Dean. And, if you cared to notice—“ He inhaled deeply through his nose and let it out, “He got rid of my cold. That’s all it was… Chamuel is affectionate. More so because we were what you would call friends in heaven. He used to tell me stories of humanity when I wasn’t allowed to visit Earth. He was my FRIEND, Dean. He is likely the ONLY friend I have left… What you and I did in Heaven isn’t exactly something any of the other angels were prepared for. Most of them are afraid of us now. The fact that Cam came down to help when he realized I was asking is miraculous. I had hoped you would understand that… Nobody else came, Dean. If it weren’t for him we wouldn’t even know what we’re looking for.”

“What are we looking for?”

“Chamuel believes it’s a reaper.”

Dean blinked; “A reaper?”

“Yes… He believes it’s a rogue reaper… They aren’t supposed to take souls until a person’s body is dead or near it. There are only so many tools in the universe capable of cutting the Binds of a person’s soul. And unless it is a witch who possesses hell hounds’ teeth, the only other choice we have is a reaper. A demon would have left evidence of itself that Chamuel would have detected. His senses are much sharper than either of ours and he saw nothing demonic.”

“Could an angel do it?”

“Not without burning the Binds closed. When an angel takes a soul, there is no chance of it being reunited with the body.”

Dean rubbed his face tiredly, felt deflated and shitty for shouting; “So, what do you do with a rogue reaper?”

“After you trap it, you let Death handle it.”

Dean nodded.

Chamuel reappeared in the seat between them after Castiel called for him, and he eyed Dean warily, like a kid that’s been yelled at for talking to strangers.

Sasha was at the studio dancing to loud music on a CD player with tears streaming down her face when Dean, Cas and Chamuel knocked. She noticed them through the blinds and stopped the music with a click of the remote, wiped her eyes and came to the door.

Chamuel spoke before Dean could open his mouth; “You dance beautifully…” His energy seemed to explode into the room, like a flood that searched every inch of the building and withdrew all in the span of a few seconds. Chamuel patted Sasha’s hand and said he was here to talk if she wanted it.

It shouldn’t have been that easy, but maybe it was something to do with an angel holding your hand, or perhaps it was the fact that Chamuel was the King of the Cupids or something… Maybe it was just that the little guy was so full of love and acceptance and fierce protectiveness that Sasha slumped into his arms weeping without even asking who he was.

Dean gave Castiel a long look as if to ask what the actual fuck had just happened but Castiel rolled his eyes dismissively and stepped into the studio.

Sasha cried for a long time, spoke in an indecipherable babble of tears and sobs, said that Dylan’s condition was failing and his mother had been admitted because she’d had a panic attack at work.

Dean only caught snips and pieces of what Sasha was saying, but Castiel’s eyes were intent, seemed to hear something Dean couldn’t and every so often Chamuel looked up at them.

Sasha seemed to cry herself out and apologized, said she couldn’t go back to her apartment because all of Brandon’s things were there and she couldn’t bear how quiet it was. That the space felt wrong, and she fingered the little jade lion wrapped on its cord around her wrist.

Chamuel’s eyes went to it instantly and his face paled. “Where did you get this?”

Sasha rubbed her nose on her wrist; “What? Oh… The Chinese restaurant around the corner. I got it for Brandon be—“

“No,” Chamuel pointed directly to the cord; “THAT,” His eyes were widening; “Where did you get the cord?”

Sasha stared at him in shock and held her wrist close to her chest. “Stephanie Baker, the real estate agent… She told me about the pendants… gave me the cord, said she got it from a craft store—“

Chamuel’s hand moved quickly, two fingers to the woman’s forehead and she went limp against his shoulder.

Dean leapt forward with his hands out; “Why’d you do that? What—“ And then he looked at the cord—got a REALLY good look at it, and why Joanne’s necklace had made his skin crawl made more sense, why he’d been sure it was the necklaces and not a spirit became perfectly clear.

Chamuel’s hands shook as he gently unwound the cord from Sasha’s wrist and pulled the pendant free.

The cord dangled there in the cupid’s shaking grip and seemed to swallow all light that got near it. Seemed to eat everything with WRONGNESS and Castiel’s whole body seemed to shake.

Chamuel said something in Enochian that made Dean’s guts hurt and Castiel echoed it in English, a poor translation, but the only thing they had to go by; “Reaper’s Blood.”

Castiel drove quickly, the rear of the truck sliding in the snow covered streets and Chamuel talked a mile a minute, face grim and grace bubbling around him angrily.

“Reaper’s transfer their Essence through touch, that’s how they sever the Binds. It’s trifold, three different energies acting as one: the Touch calms the soul, the Breath eases the body into death, the Blood severs the Binds… This is just traumatically severing Binds… There isn’t enough here to effect an adult on a normal day because they aren’t near death, but a child? A FRIGHTENED child? The fear causes the same chemical reactions as a body fearing Death, the Blood is just reacting as it was intended. It seeps in thinking the other two pieces are there and severs the Binds. Binds can’t heal in a body that isn’t alive… Reapers haven’t ever needed to CLOSE when they cut Binds, because a reaper is part of Death.”

“So, how the hell did Stephanie the Ultra Mom get hold of this?”

Chamuel’s face darkened and he seemed to SEETHE in rage. “We’ll find out.”

0-0-0

John answered the door when they arrived and Chamuel pressed up with his palm and caught the man on the brow, knocked him down and back with a soft flop onto the plush carpet, snoring quietly into his collar.

Castiel pressed a hand into Dean’s chest as they passed the threshold and shook his head; “We’re vulnerable here… We don’t know if Stephanie is working with the reaper or has it held somewhere.”

“I thought you said Cam was your friend? You’re gonna let him—“

“I’m going to let him handle this, Dean, because I can’t stand to see you killed and know that the only thing I could do would be to follow you. I don’t know if he could heal you from death, and I don’t trust Death not to ignore my calls if something were to happen. So you and I are going to wait here and guard the door while Chamuel finds Stephanie.”

There is a noise from the back of the town house. A gruff cry that didn’t come from a woman, and a moment later the patter of small feet as Joanne came down the stairs rubbing her eyes tiredly. “Mom?” She calls, “Daddy? What’s that noise?”

And then there’s Stephanie—Or what Dean thought was Stephanie, he wasn’t so sure now, not when the woman spots the little girl and something cold and sick like desperation spreads across her face. She lunges across the room and grabs the girl by the hair, lifts a hand and holds it barely an inch from Joanne’s cheek, palm curved and so gentle seeming.

Joanne let out a squawk and clawed at Stephanie’s clothes, says; ‘Mom? Mommy, that hurts!’ just as Chamuel stumbles into the room from the other direction. There’s a thin, black tactical knife sticking out of his shoulder and Dean can see pale light seeping out from around it, wonders with a sick feeling in his stomach if it’s one of Crowley’s. Dean’s chest aches.

Chamuel shifts on his feet, flicks a hand out at waist height and a short sword slides out of his sleeve. It’s similar in shape to Castiel’s, but thinner, more BLADE like than Castiel’s. Made, Dean notices, for throwing not fencing.

Chamuel speaks slow, empty hand up and speaks to the woman—speaks to the thing shaped like Joanne’s mother. “Please, let the girl go… All we want is the other children.”

Stephanie’s lips pull back from her teeth; “You don’t understand… I saw what they did. I SAW it and I had to deal with it afterward!”

Dean glances between Chamuel and Stephanie curiously but says nothing.

Chamuel shakes his head sadly; “They’re children, they didn’t understand what they were doing—“

“They should! They need to understand, so I showed them! I showed them what they’d done to her!”

Chamuel shook his head, “And the others? These children? These children did nothing wrong. They didn’t hurt anybody.”

“Not yet! But what would they do when they found out about this one? What would they do when they saw!”

Joanne’s eyes were widening and she’d started struggling in Stephanie’s grasp.

Chamuel’s lips compressed and he flicked his eyes to Dean, pushed his Voice forward; **Distract her, the cord around her neck is tainted. If she gets too frightened—**

Dean made a hollow sound in his throat, glanced to his left and noticed Castiel wasn’t behind him anymore, but a soft jolt through him pointed his internal compass upstairs, creeping toward the Reaper’s position from above.

“Joanne!” Dean called her name softly, drew her attention and smiled when her frightened little eyes met his. “Hey, just look at me. Don’t listen, just look at me,” He reached forward with the thread of his own grace in an effort to keep the girl calm but was met with a wall of fear and sadness, thoughts hurled around like ninja stars. Thoughts of bathrooms and short hair and all the other girls in class laughing and playing dress up and screaming that—and Joanne’s old school in Chicago, back before she was Joanne, back when everything felt wrong and ugly and horrible—

_Everything was OK! Everything was OK until I broke the music box and Matilda saw up my skirt. Everything was OK, then Mommy changed. She came back from work so angry and she said she would fix it— She **scared** me…_

Dean almost choked and he lifted a hand to her and smiled; “Joanne, it’s OK. Sweetheart, you’ve got nothing to be scared of. That scary thing wasn’t your mommy, and we’re going to make it go away and bring your mom back.”

Joanne breathed in deeply, her tiny body shaking, and she nodded, closed her eyes tightly—and head butted the reaper wearing her mother’s skin right in the throat.

Chamuel lunged forward with his blade just as Joanne made a blind leap toward Dean.

It happened in an instant.

The reaper gave a roar and tried to rear up out of Stephanie’s body in a blast of brightness and billowy inverted wings, and Castiel leapt down the steps, caught Stephanie’s body around the chest and pulled her away just as Chamuel planted one foot on the piano bench, caught the reaper by the throat and POPPED out of existence.

Stephanie inhaled deeply, as if she’d been suffocated and clawed at her neck coughing.

Chamuel reappeared, still bleeding, looking pale and unhinged as he stumbled toward the mantle and grabbed a decorative urn covered in tiny blue roses and images of cherubs. The moment he touched it some sort of glamour or spell that had cloaked its true purpose from their gaze fell away and Dean could see the GLOW of it, could see and feel the souls stuffed inside. Chamuel hugged it to his chest and met Castiel’s eyes where the other was helping Joanne’s mother to her feet.

Across the room Dean had Joanne held to his chest, rubbing circles on her back to calm her breathing, the black cord of her pendant clutched in one fist. He muttered how brave she was, and that he didn’t think the lion could do anything else for her, would she mind if he took it because he thought he needed it.

Joanne nodded against his chest, still sobbing, and Castiel called over; “The reaper?”

“Taken care of,” Chamuel took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh.

0-0-0

Castiel escorted Stephanie and her dazed husband upstairs, and with a quick tap of his fingers they were asleep in their beds, would wake in the morning with no memory of this, but a lingering sensation of a bad dream.

Joanne met Dean’s eyes just before Castiel eased her to sleep and caught his hand, said she hoped the lion helped him like it had her and Dean smiled, watched until she was asleep, then sat the lion pendant on the girl’s dresser and shuffled down stairs with the cord.

Chamuel had a spool of the stuff in his hand when they came back down stairs, was swaying dangerously but not a single drop of blood stained the carpet. He took the length Dean handed him and tossed it into the flames flickering in the fireplace and watched until it had burned away in a puff of acid purple smoke. “We will have to collect the other pieces, the jewelry the girls made during the sleepover is all tainted… I can do this without being noticed so…” He swayed toward Castiel with a soft noise of surprise and smiled dopily up into his face when he was caught.

Castiel took the urn from the cherub and put a hand comfortingly on his back, breathed a thank you into the top of his head, gripped him in some weird one armed hug and lead him outside.

Dean tried not to feel that unpleasant burn in his stomach and sat quietly holding pressure against the wound in Chamuel’s shoulder while Castiel sped down the streets with his flashers on.

Chamuel seemed delirious, smiled and giggled between them, pawed at Castiel’s shoulder until he leaned over into a hug and accepted an awkward brotherly kiss on his cheek. If Dean pressed a little harder into the cupid’s injured shoulder as revenge nobody noticed, or if they did they didn’t say anything.

It took three hours for Chamuel to reappear from the ER, his shirt was ruined and he was making soft weepy noises because his purple coat had been cut off of him. He was pale and disgruntled and his arm was in a sling, but at least it was a nice sling, and the nurse had given him a bandage with hearts on it to cover where they’d given him a tetanus shot. Not that he needed it the wound would gradually heal, slow for an angel because of the type of weapon, but alarmingly fast for a human.

The reaper from the elevator met them I the hallway and took the urn when Castiel handed it to her. Then he and Dean watched as the reaper and Chamuel disappeared to ‘resoul’ the children.

It was then that something strange happened.

Dean saw him from the corner of his eye, a boy, maybe eleven but not much older, with dark hair and eyes wearing jeans and a blue coat. He was standing there staring with such a lost expression on his face, one hand on his chest.

Dean knew who it was, felt it like a pain in his gut. He nudged Castiel and motioned with his eyes in the boy’s direction and Castiel nodded, stood and went to the boy.

Dylan was scared. Didn’t know what had happened. One minute he’d been sitting on his bed after learning about Inez, the next he was aware of something burning on his wrist. The bracelet Inez had made him at the sleepover with their initials on it.

“I’m dead, aren’t I,” Dylan said, his voice seemed to crack like most preteen boys do.

Castiel reached out with his extra hands and wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

Chamuel reappeared, he was shaking and tears were streaming down his face. He stopped by Castiel’s other side and leaned into his shoulder.

Dylan didn’t seem phased by the sight of the angels, if anything they seemed to comfort him, “Will Inez be OK? As long as she’s OK…” He rubbed his wrist where the bracelet was. “My mom won’t kill herself, will she? She’ll be OK without me? Will you look after her?”

The reaper was there, didn’t appear, just seemed to BE in the space. She smiled sadly and laid a hand on Dylan’s shoulder.

Dean had seen it happen before, but it still made something in him feel tight. As scary as death was, there was something almost beautiful about it… Only—

Only the reaper was looking at him confused, caught Dylan’s hand and turned it palm up, stared at something only she could see then turned and stared around quickly, SCARED. She looked right at Dean in something akin to horror and shook her head. Her wings flaring forward and suddenly she was gone.

Dylan blinked, blinked again and turned to look at Castiel. “What just happened?” Then he buckled forward with a gasp, hand on his chest—and VANISHED.

Castiel’s face paled and he turned to Chamuel but the cherub was already gone, movement silent and deadly.

There was a murmur of noise from the adjacent hallway and a flock of doctors jogged past swinging on white coats.

Dean made his way over to Castiel and they scurried away before anybody noticed them.

It was nearly two AM before there was any sort of news, and that news came in the form of a woman—the reaper from the hospital suddenly appearing in their hotel room. Her eyes were still wide, but she was dressed differently, no longer in white. Just looked like your average young woman on the street. She stared at them like one might stare at something in a zoo, all fascination and relief that they were separated by bars and six inches of impact resistant glass.

“Dylan Frasier woke up.”

Dean tilted his head toward Castiel, who just silently looked on.

The reaper shifted on her feet; “Dylan Frasier is alive, and nothing has changed… This—It’s not possible.”

When Castiel and Dean didn’t seem to give her the information she wanted she stepped forward and her shape wavered, became billowy and intimidating for all of half a second before settling back into that of a woman.

“What did you do?” She narrowed her eyes; “How did you do it?”

Dean looked at Castiel with his eyebrows up then back to her; “Maybe it wasn’t his time?”

“It was his time… We don’t make mistakes about this, but now it’s not. Now everything’s different but nothing is and my Boss isn’t freaking out like he should be… So, I’ll ask again. What. Did. You. Do.”

Castiel shook his head; “I don’t know… None of us were in the room with his body when it happened, something must have reopened his Binds. But whoever did it, it wasn’t us.”

The reaper stared at them silently, as if searching their nooks and crannies for deceit. Dean felt somehow naked under her scrutiny and shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

The reaper shook her head in disbelief but seemed to accept the answer because she was gone half a second later.

0-0-0

They went back to the hospital later that morning and found the CCU waiting room crowded with people and CDC agents toting iPads.

Nataleigh’s dads and brother were crowded into a corner smiling and crying and blowing kisses at the image on the iPad screen.

Dean didn’t even feel the need to linger once they’d taken in all the happy faces. The CDC would uphold their quarantine until they were sure the children weren’t contagious, then congratulate themselves on a job well done. But there was a room full of happy faces so that’s all that mattered to Dean and Castiel.

In the elevator on the way down Dean let out a sigh and nudged Castiel’s fingers with his own, stared at the back of the doctor’s head in front of him, and let Cas’ hand curl around his own. Didn’t shake him loose until they were back outside and hurrying to get into the truck before they froze.

Chamuel scared the shit out of them by appearing in the seat between them just as Dean was leaning across to steal a kiss and he nearly caught the chubby cupid on the cheek instead of Castiel.

Chamuel, however, thought it was wonderful and wrapped both arms around Dean’s shoulders in a bone crushing hug.

Dean didn’t know what to think. The little guy had kicked ass, but was still a fucking aggressive hugger and had no problem being overtly affectionate in public to anyone who had the misfortune to be within grabbing distance when he got happy. Maybe the reason Dean tolerated it was because it didn’t seem to be sexual for the guy. It was just—just love. He loved everything. INTENSELY, and Dean hadn’t ever been comfortable LOVING anything, even covertly.

But then there was Cas.

Cas who chuckled and smiled and accepted Chamuel’s hugs and rough, awkward, overgrownpuppy like snuggles like it was natural and Dean… Dean felt kind of left out. Felt kind of… misshapen inside that he couldn’t do that.

Chamuel smiled contentedly, cheek to cheek with Castiel and made him promise to call again if they ever needed help. That he would be down in a hot minute. Then with a final over excited hug for Dean, Chamuel left.

The snow was barbaric in Dean’s opinion. He didn’t like how cold it was, or that you couldn’t see well, or that the roads were crowded with happy Valentine’s Day people doing happy Valentine’s Day things and why the hell couldn’t he do that? Why the hell did he always have this rock in his gut telling him something bad was going to happen and take all the good away if he dared to want more than what he was getting?

Why couldn’t he want to hold hands and cuddle and watch Audrey Hepburn movies and eat candy and… and… And why couldn’t Dean just let himself be loved and unashamed to love back? What was he so afraid of?

It was fine when Cas was tucked under his arm, or curled back into Dean’s chest… But suddenly it wasn’t OK when Dean wanted to let Castiel’s arms wrap around him? Why?

He shoved his hand into Castiel’s discarded coat pocket for his package of tissues—and found chocolates instead. “What’s this?” He pulled them out and held them on his palm.

Castiel glanced at them, then back to the road. “Chamuel gave them to me. They’re really good. You can have those if you want them.”

Dean didn’t—not really—okay, it was fucking candy. The foil crinkled as he unwrapped them and just as he was about to crumple them into balls he noticed something written on the foil and blinked at it in shock.

_Hug someone today._

Dean snorted, amused and flattened the foil out on his knee. Swallowed and reached for one of the others, went straight for the little verse before he put the candy in his mouth; _Do something spontaneous._

Castiel glanced over, but away again when a passing car put on its horn.

Dean had a feeling, even before he unwrapped the third piece, but he couldn’t place it. Couldn’t be sure until he’d opened it.

**Share a secret.**

Dean sighed around the candy; “I think Cam is trying to talk to me through chocolates.”

Castiel’s shoulders sagged in relief; “Oh, good, it wasn’t just me then.”

Dean snorted, “Oh? What’d yours say?”

Castiel reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out the slips of foil, passed them over and didn’t once take his eyes off the road.

_Daydreaming is free._

_Remember the simple pleasures in life._

_Don’t settle for a spark… light a fire instead._

_Ignite your sense of adventure._

Dean wrinkled his nose; “Hey, you got one more than me.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and shoved his hand into his coat pocket fished around and held the last piece out on the palm of his hand.

It wasn’t like the others, wasn’t shaped funny or have a cute saying inside. It was just a little drop of chocolate wrapped in purple foil but it meant something. Dean saw it and knew in his gut what it meant.

It didn’t stop him from eating it and giving Castiel a smug look, but after, when they’d pulled to a stop in front of the hotel it still lingered in Dean’s mind. Castiel swung on his coat and headed up to their room, said he wanted to shower because his balls were so cold they’d shrunk up behind his pancreas.

When he came out, rubbing his hair dry, sweats hung low on his hips Dean was sitting on the bed with a plate of chocolate covered strawberries on the quilt in front of him and some fragrant froufrou tea in a goddamned china teapot on a tray by the bed.

Castiel stared at him, blinked and gave his head a shake—Then he turned a miraculous shade of pink and Dean felt something warm blossom in his chest.

Okay, this—this was kind of awesome. Maybe Dean could handle this whole, couply bullshit after all. If Castiel kept looking at him like that, and blushing all the way to his belly button and smiling just with one corner of his mouth.

“We can go see that movie down stairs if you want…”

Castiel threw his towel into the corner and crawled onto the bed, silenced Dean with his lips and collapsed beside him against the pillows, smiling at the fruit. He wound up eating the chocolate off most of them and making Dean eat the berries, because he was kind of a jackass like that, but Dean put up with it because it made Castiel’s mouth taste good, and made his smiles and little giggles even better.

The tea was pink. Tasted like flowers and lemon and too much sugar but the look on Castiel’s face was worth it. The pink in his cheeks and the tilt of his head and the way, five seconds into one of those long intense stares of his he lunged up impatiently and caught Dean’s mouth… worth it. All of it.

They didn’t go down to the movie. Dean found Breakfast at Tiffany’s on the TV, because Dean felt kind of obligated, and they wrapped up around one another and didn’t watch half of it, spent that time engrossed in the pressure of mouths and fingers and limbs and the desperate rush of blood as they rocked their hips together. Just simple friction of cloth and skin before Dean started shaking and had to withdraw. Pressed his face into the mattress and focused on his breathing while Castiel brushed his palm over the ink on his back, traced letters and circles drawn into his skin.

Dean swallowed the tightness in his throat and turned his face out of the sheet, stared into those denim blue eyes and found himself speaking, felt the words as if burned into the back of his throat.

“You know, right?”

“Know what?”

Dean rolled the tip of his tongue over his swollen lower lip and let the air shake out of his chest. He pressed his brow into Castiel’s shoulder and mumbled the words into his skin; “You know I love you, right?”

Castiel’s hand stuttered in its rhythm but smoothed quickly; “Yes.”

“I mean, even if I don’t say it a lot… I do.”

“I know you do… It’s still nice to hear it, but I know, Dean, and I love you too.”

Dean was quiet, shifted his head and scrubbed the prickly hairs on his chin against the sensitive skin of Castiel’s neck, smiled when he got a ticklish giggle and lifted himself on elbows to hover over him on the bed.

Castiel’s hair had dried in wild spikes and waves, like he’d been in the wind all day, and there was a redness about his lips, a care free warmth in his gaze that shifted so easily to love that Dean had a hard time looking at it while in the same instant, a hard time looking away. He wanted to drown there kind of. Forget all the achy, cold, bullshitty thoughts that crept into his head and heart sometimes, and just let himself BE. Just let himself want what he wanted and be with who he loved.

Dean passed a hand over Cas’ head and bent down to steal another kiss, but it was given freely so the kleptomaniac in him was unsatisfied. “We should do it.”

“Hmm? Do what?”

Dean rolled his eyes at the room in general.

“Sex?” Castiel tilted his chin down seriously.

Dean bobbed his head to the side and brought his shoulder up to meet it. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

And Castiel laughed quietly, lifted a hand to cover his mouth and his eyes flashed. He tilted his chin up for another kiss and smiled into it; “We can have sex anytime… How often do you buy candy and tea for me?”

“Whenever you want th—“

“When do you do it romantically?”

Dean didn’t answer.

“How about,” He caught Dean’s lower lip gently between his teeth; “How about you let me do something.”

“Like what?”

And Castiel’s other arm settled around his shoulders and drew Dean down against his chest, fingers curling into Dean’s hair and scratching gently against his scalp, lips brushing his forehead and eyelids before finding the crest of his cheek. It felt intimate and weirdly innocent and—and Dean liked it. Liked it in a different way than he liked having sex with Cas, or sleeping with Cas pulled close and safe. He didn’t usually let Castiel just hold him, unless he was hurt or sick or on those rare occasions his head decided it was going to do an imitation of a grenade. He’d been held when he was less than capable, but never when he was fully capable, just because he wanted to be. Just because it felt good… Just because Castiel wanted him to feel loved and protected and—and cherished.

It—it was awkward at first because Dean didn’t know how to relax, but then he just—just did it anyway. Remembered what Joanne had said about her little lion and decided, for now at least, he wasn’t going to let himself be afraid of this.

Dean went lax and Castiel’s arms curled around him a little tighter, excitement skipping through where their graces meshed. Dean felt a trill of it himself and hid a grin against Castiel’s sternum, rubbed the stubble on his chin against it and smiled at the laughter he drew out.

0-0-0

Sam called at noon on Sunday and talked over the sound of Disney movies from the other room. He asked how the ‘Date’ had gone and if the case had wrapped up. He could hear the radio playing in the background on Dean’s end of the phone, the weather forecast, and listened while his brother recounted the case, said that Cupids were kind of badass and maybe Sam should get a tramp-stamp of one if he was so intent on getting another tattoo.

Sam said ‘yeah, no’ and asked when to expect them back because Sputnik was getting despondent and her whining was keeping some people up at night.

Dean chuckled and tucked his head back against Castiel’s shoulder, let out a little contented sigh, “Tomorrow morning at the latest… We’ll see you soon.”

0-0-0

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End file.
